


wait for me: we will live it out vividly

by hihoplastic



Series: STV Tumblr Prompts/Reposts [2]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 16:10:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4793939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hihoplastic/pseuds/hihoplastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her hair’s plastered to her face and she’s shivering in her thin blouse and skirt, but she raises her chin and looks him dead in the eye and says with far more authority than someone in her position should have, “I need you to fix Dante.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	wait for me: we will live it out vividly

**Author's Note:**

> \- For Anon, with the tumblr prompt, _‘you’re a vet and i’m pleading with you to save my goldfish and you’re the first vet i’ve visited to not ask me if i’m sure i don’t want to go and buy another goldfish for three dollars’ au_  
>  \- Title from Pablo Neruda's _With Her_

He’s already put on his coat and is reaching for the light switch when the doorbell jingles behind him, and he closes his eyes to keep from snapping.

“I’m sorry, we’re closed,” he says, in a tone he hopes approximates politeness.

“Oh. Was there a sign?”

He takes a deep breath. It’s been a long day, and he just wants a hot cup of tea and a hot shower and Puccini loud enough to drown out the rain that’s been pounding the roof since last night.

“It’s a holiday weekend,” he says, “But you can come back Monday and make an appointment if you–”

He turns, and freezes. He’d expected another job applicant for the front desk position, or a student looking for an internship. He’d expected a kid from the neighborhood, popping by to ask why dogs can’t eat chocolate but they’ll eat their own puke.

He does not expect a small, drenched woman with a heavy bag slung over her shoulder, tilted under the weight, clutching a goldfish bowl to her chest.

“…wish.”

Her hair’s plastered to her face and she’s shivering in her thin blouse and skirt, but she raises her chin and looks him dead in the eye and says with far more authority than someone in her position should have, “I need you to fix Dante.”

“Dante?”

“My fish.”

He looks from her to the bowl and back again. “Your fish is named Dante?”

She huffs, her bag slipping on her shoulder and he finally remembers his manners, quickly relieving her of the fish bowl so she can set down her bag. She rubs her shoulder and flashes him a tight but grateful smile.

Chakotay tosses a longing look at the clock, but when he sets the bowl on the counter and turns back, her confidence seems to have disappeared. Her shoulders are lower, she’s dripping a puddle on his floor, wringing her hands together. She stops when she notices him staring.

Chakotay clears his throat. “What seems to be the problem?”

Crossing the lobby, she leans against the counter, eye level with the bowl. “He’s been acting strange,” she says quietly. “He keeps scratching against the sides and the tank decorations, he’s not eating properly, and sometimes it looks like he can’t breathe.” She dips a finger in the water, watching the ripples. “Usually he’ll come when I do that but lately…”

It takes more concentration than he’d care to admit to drag his attention away from her. Her makeup is smudged, hair dripping on the desk - she’s pale and still shivering slightly, and without thinking he removes his coat and places it over her shoulders.

“How long have you had him?” he asks, concentrating on the fish to avoid her shocked gaze.

“8 years.”

He tries to keep the surprise off his face but evidently fails. Her spine straightens and her eyes narrow and he thinks she’d be terrifying if she weren’t soaked and completely dwarfed by his jacket.

“Look, I know he’s “just a fish” - that much as been made clear by the first fifteen vets I went to - but if you’re going to tell me I can just buy another for three dollars at a pet shop, I’ll try someplace else.“

His hand settles on her wrist as she reaches for the bowl.

“I wasn’t,” he says softly. Her skin is cold under his fingers and he has the irrational urge to warm her up. To take care of her.

Pushing it aside, he moves the lamp on the desk closer and flashes her a smile. “Let’s take a look.”

She relaxes slightly, in what he thinks is relief, and settles down next to him, both leaning against the counter to peer into the tank.

She keeps one hand on the glass, her touch gentle, and he tries to be surreptitious about the glances he takes, attempting to focus on the white veiltail fish in front of him.

He takes a few moments to be sure, then points at Dante’s belly. “See those little dots there?”

She moves closer, her arm brushing his as she squints.

“It’s called white spot. It’s caused by a parasite in the water that can attack a fish’s lowered immune system. You probably didn’t notice because they blend in with his coloring.”

She nods, pushing her hair back from her face. “Lowered immune system?”

“Goldfish are fairly susceptible to stress, just like we are. Has anything in his environment changed recently?”

She cringes, biting her lip and staring at her fish apologetically. “I just moved here from Florida last week. We drove almost straight through.”

Chakotay smiles sympathetically. “That would do it,” he says, trying desperately not to picture her, driving along I-95 with a fish on the floor of the passenger’s seat. Still, he has to bite back a smile.

“Is it treatable?”

“It is,” he assures her, taking a pen and paper out of his pocket to jot down instructions. “You’ll have to raise the temperature and oxygenate the water for a few days. Add a little salt, and it should clear it right up.”

“Really?”

He laughs at the look on her face, and suppresses a shudder when her fingers brush his to take the paper.

“You don’t trust me?”

Her lips quirk. “No, I do. I’m just not used to things being simple.”

He arches an eyebrow. “You spent all day going to 15 different clinics. I’m not sure I’d call that simple.”

She shrugs, looking much calmer, and offers a smile. “When you deal with ship parts and bullheaded ensigns all day, everything seems simpler.”

“You’re in the Navy?”

She shakes her head. “Air Force, but I’m retired.”

He wants to ask, but doesn’t want to pry. Still, he can’t let her just walk away. “You look awfully young to be retired.”

She laughs, and the sound spreads through him like water. “From the military, not for good, and that wasn’t nearly as suave as you think it was.”

Chakotay laughs. “Hey, I just saved your fish.”

Her smile softens instantly. “And Dante and I are very grateful.” Turning, she rifles in her bag and comes back with a checkbook. “What do I owe you?”

“Owe me?”

“For saving my fish. And, after hours, no less.”

He waves her off. “Don’t worry about it.” She starts to protest, but he smiles and shakes his head. “I was happy to.”

She considers him for a moment. “You really were, weren’t you?” she murmurs. “Happy to help, even though it was inconvenient and not at all your problem.” Chakotay frowns, until she slips off his coat and hands it to him, a warm smile on her lips. “That’s rarer than you think.”

He blushes, the tips of his ears going hot, and he hopes she can’t tell in the dim lighting.

“Thank you, Doctor…”

“Chakotay.” He offers his hand, pleased when she takes it.

“Kathryn Janeway.”

She says it almost regally, a formality that’s been ingrained, and he stares at her a moment before it clicks into place.

“When you said ships…you didn’t mean boats, did you?”

She frowns. “No. I meant—”

“Space ships.”

“We prefer to call them shuttles, but—”

“You worked at Kennedy.”

“How did you—”

“You’re _General_ Kathryn Janeway. Former director of the Kennedy Space Center, 20 years in the Air Force, 10 years in NASA’s Astronaut Office, Commander in Afghanistan.” At her wary look, he smiles. “It was in the paper. NASA’s first female Administrator. I guess congratulations are in order.”

She flushes. “It’s 22 years,” she corrects, but the airs are a show, and he laughs.

“Apologies. 22 years flying planes and you couldn’t Google your goldfish?”

She folds her arms across her chest, which does nothing for his concentration. “The Internet is full of misinformation. I wanted a real vet.” She pauses, then admits, “and I don’t have wireless yet in my apartment.”

Chakotay laughs. “Well, in that case. It’s nice to meet you, Kathryn.” He gives a nod to the bowl. “And you, Dante.”

She rolls her eyes and moves to gather her things, but he beats her to it, offers to walk her to be car. He shoulders her bag and locks up behind her, endeared when she hunched over the bowl to keep the rainwater out as she dashes for her car.

Once Dante is safely inside, she turns back, taking her bag and placing it in the back seat. She’s almost completely soaked again, and this time there’s enough light to notice how translucent her shirt is, her figure as it clings to her skin. He licks his lips and tries not to stare.

“Well,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “If you ever need any more fish help, or you decide to upgrade to a cat, you know where to find me.”

She huffs, but smiles. “Thank you. Really.”

He nods, about to force himself away when she calls his name. “Where’s the best place to get a cup of coffee around here?”

“What?”

“Coffee. I’m new, remember?”

He thinks it’s a hint but doesn’t dare to hope. “I don’t know. I drink tea.”

Kathryn wrinkles her nose, and the sight is so adorable that he laughs.

“Something wrong with tea?”

“Yes. It’s not coffee.”

“I’m afraid I have no idea.”

“All right,” she says, but her smile wanes and she turns to leave.

Kicking himself, he steps toward her. “Unless you were asking me out.” She whips around, hair sticking to her neck. “In which case, they’re all great. Every coffee shop. There’s one half a block from here that is particularly—”

She laughs. “I need to take my fish home.” She pauses. “Meet you there in an hour?”

Chakotay grins. “Perfect.”


End file.
